A Knight in Gotham
by Grinning Fellow
Summary: KP-Batman crossover. Arriving in Gotham City to begin university, Kim Possible crosses paths with the Dark Knight, and is drawn into a conflict with a mysterious foe that plans to destroy them both.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue: Big Leagues

Disclaimer: I don't own the Kim Possible franchise nor the Batman franchise. There is no profit to be made in writing this work.

Author's Notes: Well, here begins my Kim Possible/Batman crossover. With any luck, it may just end up being on par with Mr. Classic Cowboy's "_Knights_".

----

Pulling onto the interstates, you can't miss the City. It hangs there, on the edge of the horizon like a big, puffy cloud. Its towers jut out of the earth like pillars keeping the sky aloft, and the luminescent glow from the thousands of lights gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling on the inside. But as you cross its threshold, your eyes start to adjust, and you see the City as it _really_ is.

As you swerve onto a backstreet to avoid the five o'clock traffic jam, you find yourself on a thin, cracked slab of asphalt, flanked by ominous, gothic buildings that stretch up out of the sight of mortal eyes. Suddenly, that cloud has gotten a lot darker.

Your hands, a lot moister than when you pulled into the City, start to clench the steering wheel a lot tighter. You start humming to yourself to drown out the screeching whine of the police siren that is too close for comfort.

The engine coughs in protest, and curses you for not filling her up when you had the chance. You ease the vehicle over to a vacant lot on the side of the dirty avenue. Reluctantly, you kill it.

That siren is even closer now. You hum louder.

Everyone's eyes are focused on you. You shrink in your seat, and squeeze the steering wheel as though it's the only thing keeping you afloat in this sea of dirt.

You rise out of the car slowly. The door barks at you as it's slammed closed, chastising you for being stupid enough to abandon your only source of protection.

Footsteps create a symphony behind you, tapping in a sinister rhythm in a rapid crescendo. Please God, you say to yourself, let it be a wino.

When the brutish kick from behind sends you gracelessly hurdling to the ground, you know they don't want your money. They just want to hurt you.

The man approaches you, the warm summer air covering him in a thin sheen of perspiration. He opens his mouth, and makes a noise that sounds like a cat being strangled. He's laughing.

There's an unmistakable _shnk_ as the edge of the switchblade eagerly leaps out of its shell. In the reflection of the metal, you see the look on your face, and curse yourself for being such a coward.

The symphony is in its second movement now, and it's louder than before.

In the dark sky above, you hear the wind howl as it roars across something in the air. Above your head, a _clink_ echoes as a tiny piece of metal digs into the granite building. The symphony abruptly stops, as its conductor is knocked to the ground.

Something descends from the Heavens above, landing in front of you. Suddenly, the night is darker.

There are muffled screams as a shroud that could only be forged in the pits of hell expands and envelopes its victim in eternal blackness. There are cries of defiance as the stubborn man tries to resist against something that can't be stopped. Suddenly, those cries of defiance turn to cries of fear.

The shroud recedes, and the night turns to face you. You crane your neck to look into its blank, emotionless eyes. It takes you a moment to realize that you're staring into the eyes of the Devil himself.

"Word of advice," it speaks in an inhuman tone that nonetheless commands obedience, "next time you run out of gas, do it on a safer street."

You nod, your jaw too slack to form a coherent word, and watch as this knight of darkness ascends to sky in which it fell from.

As the adrenaline racing through your veins begins to slow itself, and you wipe the sweat from your brow, you realize that the City is a war zone, and you have just been saved by the general of the side that's worth fighting for.

Metropolis may be the dwelling of America's favorite son, but it's here, in Gotham, where the real heroes are.

----

Kim sighed as they trudged down the dilapidated, broken sidewalk. Above them, neon signs incessantly flashed, their multicolored faces displaying a happy, utopian outcome if passerbys would simply shell out two-hundred fifty bucks for whatever product they were selling.

_This city is so two-faced_, the auburn-haired beauty thought miserably as she

caught a glimpse of a beautiful, flowing dress in the window of a ritzy store. As her eyes

focused, she saw an elderly woman, clothes ragged and covered in layers of dirt begging with a passing couple for a dollar or two in the reflection of the glass. With another deep exhale, she jerked her head back down to staring at the cement pathway.

"Why so glum KP?" A soft voice asked with pseudo-cheer from her left. She looked up.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing Ron." She told him, giving him the best fake smile she could conjure. He saw right through it.

In her mind, Kim wasn't the least bit surprised. The boy had been her best friend since childhood, and had been with her through basically every good and bad thing that'd ever happened to her. He could read her like a book.

"Come on KP, you can tell me."

Once more, Kim Possible sighed deeply, and looked towards her best friend and confidant. No point in sugar-coating the issue.

"I hate this. I mean, I wanted to go to Gotham U because I wanted to get the best education there is. But I didn't know we'd be so far away from each other. This city is so dirty. I don't think I can handle this by myself."

A sad smirk crossed the blond boy's features. He gently brought his index finger to touch Kim's chin. "What are you talking about? You're Kim Possible. You can do anything."

Waves of nostalgia crashed against Kim as she heard her mantra recited.

"Thanks Ron, but how are we going to see each other? We're in two completely different states!"

"Don't worry about it, I'll drive down here every weekend to come visit you."

The girl smiled, genuinely this time. He'd always been there for her. Why should that change now? No matter what the sitch had even been, he had always supported her.

Her slender arms wrapped around the boy, pulling him in close. Though they'd done this many times before, it surprised the both of them. Despite the summer temperature, she enjoyed the warmth of being pressed up against her best friend.

Without a moment to think about the repercussions of such a move, Kim felt herself press her lips together, and lean towards the unsuspecting Ron. Her face inched close to his. A spark of electricity danced between the rapidly-closing space between the two.

"_Heeelp!"_

The girl's head whipped around in the other direction, her bright red mane of hair caressing the boy's face. Her eyes focused on the source of scream, and she watched as an elderly lady was viciously shoved into the faded brick wall behind her as the dirt-covered, sneering punk jogged off with her purse. The girl's tactical mind was already beginning to plan out the quickest and most efficient way to take down the thief.

Turning back, she stared at her friend, and frowned at the predicament. It was a tough choice, but, in the end, the decision was obvious.

"Sorry Ron," the girl stated with authentic regret, "Duty calls."

Executing a flawless back flip, the world savior several times over landed in the centre of the empty street, and began to pursue the dubious thug.

Muscles tensed as her athletic legs started to pump. Moments like the one with Ron happened very rarely in a lifetime, and when they were so rudely interrupted, it didn't please Kim in the slightest.

_I'm going to make this twit hurt for that_, she thought determinedly as she closed in on him.

----

The Sun begins its descent, its dying light casting out a regal violet hue in the sky, as if the celestial lamp was trying in one last, desperate attempt to get the people of earth to remember what it had brought them today. Suddenly, from the roof of a particularly tall skyscraper, a shadow lurches, cutting like a black razor across the sky, stealing the robbing the splendor from star.

To those new to the city, the giant, pointed ears, flowing wings, and massive frame would look like a demon straight from the pits of hell. But the denizens of Gotham know better. That shadow in the sky is a defender, a crusader. A…dark knight.

----

His body screamed in protest as he used his grappling hook to swing across to another of the endless monoliths in Gotham.

Fifty-seven full hours without food or sleep. He had instead spent that time painstakingly searching for clues in Gotham's sewer system, hunting for Killer Croc before the half-man, half-monster could devour his hostages as promised. When the ordeal was over, the five children had been returned to their parents, and Croc was lying in the intensive care ward of Arkham Asylum.

If he had any sense, he would return to Wayne Manor, have Alfred run a hot bath, and then sleep for the next day. But it was nightfall, and the safety of the city superceded his own personal luxuries.

"_Heeelp!"_ A woman's voice echoed across the barren street below him. Activating his infrared vision, the slits in his cowl narrowed as he witnessed Chris "Scorch" Matheson violate his parole.

The city was quiet tonight. He had captured both Killer Croc and Cornelius Stirk this week, and with them both locked up where they belonged, there were no high-priority criminals to track. Commissioner Akins and the boys in blue would be able to handle this night.

But pursuing Croc had consumed most of his time. He hadn't even been able to phone Tim and talk to him after…what happened. The boy was in bad shape. The slits in the cowl narrowed even further.

A hiss shattered the silence as the grappling hook latched onto another building. His cape spread out across the sky as he swooped down after Scorch Matheson.

Commissioner Akins and the boys in blue may be able to handle the night, but that didn't mean they wouldn't have help.

---

_For a low-life, _Kim mused, her breathing starting to become heavier, _he's pretty fast._

The chase had gone on for five minutes now, with the dirt-caked mugger only realizing he was being followed after two minutes.

Taking a sharp turn, the punk knocked over a garbage can to impede his hunter, and then dashed down the dark corridor of an alleyway.

_Great, _another_ alley_. Kim had already stumbled into three on her tour of Gotham, getting lost in one of them. Just how many of these damned things were there in this city?

She could hear his ragged breath coming from the depths of the dark abyss and the crashing sounds as he toppled over the ubiquitous garbage cans. This guy was not a fighter, he was a coward. This didn't surprise Kim. To her, criminals were a superstitious and cowardly lot.

The dim light that the dying Sun had been provided suddenly flashed out. Instinctively, the young woman looked out, only to see something that just came underneath a jackrabbit as a foreman on a construction site in her "Things I Won't See in Gotham" list. A gigantic shadow, one that resembled a bat, descended like a vulture diving in on its prey.

For a woman of her age, Kim had seen a lot of strange, frightening things. However, this one truly chilled her. Goosebumps broke out across her skin, and she heard herself gasp.

_Knock it off Possible,_ she scolded herself, _you've faced worse than this_. Visions of simian ninja men, pale sociopaths with lethal hands, and mutant delinquents flashed in Kim's mind to reassure her.

A frantic, terrified screaming snapped her back into reality. The darkness of the alley prevented the woman from seeing what was happening, but she knew that whatever had dropped from the sky just moments ago was now attacking the thug that she'd been chasing.

The feral cries for help caused Kim to push aside her own fear, and charge into the dark. The kid may have been a low-life, but she swore to protect people from evil, and today was no exception.

As she got closer, the screaming stopped, and an even more horrifying silence settled in the air. For a moment, Kim feared the worst.

Her advance was stopped as something hit her square in the chest, knocking her onto her back. She heard the object hit the ground beside her with a _thud_. She groaned, and brought her hands across the surface of the item. Its texture and size quickly told Kim that she had been hit with a purse.

With a sigh of relief, she allowed her head to roll back. Her gaze shifted upwards, and she let out a sudden scream. Towering above her was the monster from the sky. It was a mass of muscle. A bright yellow belt with many pouches rested at its waist, and a barely-visible emblem of a bat was displayed across its chest. The most petrifying part about it though were its eyes. Most of its face remained hidden by either a black mask or shadows, but the eyes were clearly visible. Bright white and emotionless, they glared down at Kim Possible with irritation. Draped over one of its shoulders was the unconscious body of the punk.

"W-what are you?" Kim stammered out, shocked by what stood above her. Normally, she'd have some witty banter on hand, but she was too scared to form anything other than that sentence.

It responded in a voice that was as cold as its eyes.

The body of the mugger was heaved to the ground, and the bat-like monster ascended back into the sky, leaving the girl to repeat the words that it had said to her:

"I'm Batman."

----

End Author's Notes: This is just a note to any Bat-nerd who is reading this story and commenting on my broken continuity. In this storyline, everything in "Hush" would've happened, except anything to do with Two-Face. Also, all the lead-ups to "War Games" (i.e. Tim Drake leaving as Robin; Stephanie Brown becoming Robin, then getting fired) all happened, but the actual "War Games" hasn't. And only some of "Identity Crisis" has happened. It's the way I have to write it for anything to make sense.

Hope that you guys (if there in fact are any) enjoyed this unusually long prologue. I hope to have the next chapter up soon.


	2. Chapter 1: Dummies

Chapter 1: Dummies

I hear him calling. Echoing down the corridors, resounding off the walls, from the darkest corners of this room to the inner sanctums of my mind. He calls to me.

I thought he was gone. I watched as they took him, dismembered his limbs, tossed him into the voracious maw of that blast furnace, laughed as he cried out for help. I thought I he was gone forever. But I should know better. He'll be here, always.

People called him ruthless, vicious, maniacal and bloodthirsty. But what they don't understand is that what he's trying to do is protect me. Protect me from the City.

The City is an abattoir. A Roman Coliseum where people kill each other for the amusement of some twisted deity. All he was doing was defending my life. It may be fighting fire with fire, but who's to question morality in this Gomorrah?

The lost ones of the City depend on the Bat. As the dirty boots of the muggers crack another of their ribs, they will look to the sky and cry his name. When they stand behind the counter of the dilapidated convenience store, staring into the abyss of the shotgun, they whisper their pleas to him.

But who can depend on him? Who can depend on a _man_, who dresses in a costume? As people die, their final thoughts will be of the Bat saving them.

The Bat is a false Idol. He will prove it, once and for all.

_Hey, dummy!_ He shouts with his rasp from just around the corner.

"Coming sir…"

* * *

Ron grunted in agony as the beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. He had suffered many types of strange and outlandish tortures before, but this one was beyond the human notion of evil. Exhaling heavily, he collapsed against the crème wall, hoping to black out before he could endure anymore. 

"Come on Ron," Kim chided as she set another of the boxes on the ground, "my shoes aren't going to move themselves."

The blond-haired boy uttered another pained groan. "How many more?" He whined.

"Two boxes," she responded factually. Ron responded with another audible protest.

"Oh, suck it up Ron," Kim scolded as she relieved him of the rectangular tan container, "we've been through much worse than this before."

"Yeah, tell that to my shoulders," he grumbled and began rubbing his aching blades in a soothing manner.

Kim smiled and shook her head. Logically, hiring professional movers would be quicker and easier (with much less complaining to boot), but she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her best friend as she could.

As the blond-haired man dropped the box gracelessly and stepped back out into the hallway, muttering half-hearted curses as he retreated, she turned to take in her dorm room once more.

It wasn't as big as she'd hope, nor as luxurious, but it would suffice. Wooden floorboards tried their best not to squeak underneath her feet, occasionally slipping up and making a small chuckle. White curtains festooned the gaunt window that overlooked the campus. Flanking that was its bulky bodyguard, the bed. Decorated with assortments of blankets and Cuddle Buddies, it looked simply regal.

Angling her head upwards, she looked at the bulletin board that hung over the bed. Covering every bare inch of the rectangular surface were all types of visual media. Photographs, sketches, newspaper clippings, essays she found online, fanfiction. Despite the diversity, they all had one thing in common. They were all about Batman.

Taking a step back, her emerald eyes embraced the entire board, as well as the bed. The light whites and poignant pinks offered a sharp contrast to the all-encompassing black above it. Her bed was like a prince, bowing in respect towards its dark knight protector.

Kim could not believe that she had never heard of this cowl-cloaked vigilante before. She'd heard about the man in red underwear and a cape who protected Metropolis, and had even rumours of an Amazonian princess had penetrated the protective shell of suburban life in Middleton. But then, Gotham liked to sweep its urban legends under the rug, hoping it'd get buried with the dirty little secrets and filthy big secrets that kept the city standing.

She was captivated with this masked man. How anyone could do the things that he'd done was simply mind-numbing. Not that she condoned his actions, by any stretch. The man was a menace to the already-fragile city of Gotham. With all the gangsters and drug dealers, and the even dirtier politicians, the _last_ thing this city needed was some freak who dressed up like a winged rat and beat up people on the streets. The city needed a defender who was organized and well-known. Someone they could rally behind, instead of shrink in terror at the name. Someone like…her.

A loud crash against the wall, the unmistakable sound of unskilled hands propelling a hefty box of shoes into a wall snapped Kim out of her lethargic trance.

"Ron, be careful!" She scolded as she wheeled around to face…someone who was not her best friend.

Standing at the threshold of the door, a box at her feet, was a chestnut-haired woman in a light red top, and jeans rolled up to reveal her alabaster ankles. Her azure blue eyes widened as her ruby lips formed a charming smile.

"The guessing game was never your forte, was it?" Stepping over the box, she approached Kim, "Hi, my name's _Chloe_," she said, teasing Kim with the emphasis on her name, "I'll your roommate."

"Sorry about that. Hi Chloe, I'm—"

"Kim Possible. I know. I followed your exploits back when I was in high school. You were my hero."

"Oh, well, it was…" Kim began, making her usual modest excuses. She couldn't deny that she loved the attention.

"Don't sell yourself short. You were a hero," Chloe carried on, "Everyone on campus is envious of me for getting to room with a real live superhero! They're hard to come by in Gotham. The only other one we have is…" The brunette trailed off as her eyes glimpsed at the shrine hanging behind Kim.

"Well, I guess you already know who that is," Chloe finished.

"Who? Batman?" Kim queried as she turned to face the bulletin board, "He's not a hero."

"What are you talking about?" Chloe asked, "What else would you call a man who keeps these streets safe to walk at night?"

"A psychopath." Kim stated factually. "Trust me on this one Chloe, I've fought against freaks like him for years."

"When you're born and raised in Gotham City, you _need_ a savior. Trust me on this one, Kim."

The auburn-haired girl was readying her counter, when the familiar grunts and curses coming from the doorway interrupted her.

"Kim, I don't think my arm is supposed to bend this way!" Ron shouted.

Smiling sheepishly, Kim stepped out into the hallway, with Chloe right behind her.

"Chloe, I'd like you to meet my very good and slightly clumsy friend, Ron—"

"Stoppable," the brunette said, cutting off Kim for the second time that day. "You're Kim's partner from Team Possible. I saw you on television once. You were in your boxers."

Ron's broad smile diminished at that last part of that comment. "Ouch, are you always that good with the backhanded comments?"

The girl grinned, "Chloe Wentworth, glad to meet you."

Temporarily forgetting the weighty package in his hand, Ron reached out and gallantly accepted her hand.

"YOW!" He hollered as the box crashed atop his foot.

Trying to contain their laughter as the hapless boy hopped around the room, Chloe reached out and grabbed him on the shoulder.

"Calm down Ron, I'll take the rest of the boxes in for you."

"My savior," he squeaked out, before resuming his frantic dance of pain around the room.

* * *

The Gotham evening gave no respite to the unbearable heat. Rubbing a chilled water bottle across her forehead, Kim leaned back in her comfortable chair in an effort to relax.

It had been several hours since all her stuff had been brought up from the truck. She'd get to unpacking it tomorrow. Ron, after limping his way over to a nearby nurse's station to make sure he had no fractures in his foot, had treated the two girls to dinner. Disappointed that Bueno Nacho had not yet expanded into Gotham, he reluctantly settled for one of the city's many fine-dining restaurants. Turning down repeated offers to stay with them for the night, Ron found himself a halfway-decent motel to stay at for the night. He'd be heading back to Middleton after bidding his farewells to Kim the next day.

"…I just can't wrap my head around people wanting to be saved by a man who wears a _Bat _costume." Kim stated out of the blue.

Ever since they had met, Kim and Chloe had been debating on-and-off about Gotham's favorite urban legend. The heat was too stifling for them to put too much effort into it.

"Gotham's a lot different from Middleton Kim," Chloe retorted, "I know that you've generally come to a conclusion that people who dress up in costumes are insane, but is it not possible that maybe he's an exception."

"He isn't though, Chloe, that's the whole point. Look, I saw him up-close and personal. What he did to that guy, even if he was a punk, crossed a line."

"Unlike if you had caught him, and kicked him around for a bit, right?"

Kim opened her mouth to disprove Chloe's theory, when the girl suddenly uttered her to hush, and pointed to the television screen that had been flickering in the background for awhile.

Chloe reached forward and turned up the volume as the screen displayed a bank cordoned off by bright yellow police tape and accentuated by searchlights from hovering helicopters. A young reporter with impeccably-combed hair stood in front of the camera.

"—porting from Gotham's First National Bank, where the police are in a desperate standoff with Arnold Wesker, a.k.a. the Ventriloquist, and his gang. Wesker is, of course, the infamous crime boss who had recently been released from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The police have been unavailable for comment, but it is certain that they will be unable to make a move until the Batman shows up."

"Just sit back and watch this Kim," Chloe urged, "then we'll see who's really right about Batman."

Kim just stared at the screen with a shocked look on her face. "I don't believe this. The _cops_ are waiting for that….that freak to show up? Is everyone in this city dependent on a man in black underwear! I'm going to do more than just watch Chloe, I'm going to get this city's senses back, even if I have to knock it back in."

Using the fullest of her athletic talents to hop off the chair, she landed a few feet in front of the open door, and broke into a full run. Part of her mind wondered if it was wise to charge headlong into a new environment without knowing anything about her surroundings or her opponent. But that was the part of her mind that she never listened to. By now, the adrenaline was already flooding her veins, and her brilliant mind was creating possible tactical situations for her. This city needed a role model, not a psychopath, in the public limelight. And if she was the only one capable enough to accept those duties, then so be it.

"Kim, where are you goi—" Chloe yelled down the hall, falling onto deaf ears.

* * *

The rush of wind under his cape created a chorus of screaming. The sound of a city in need.

He'd heard all the news reports, read all the editorials about the Bat. How they cursed him, called him a fascist, a monster. How they claimed _he _was the root of all society's problems.

The fools. They didn't know. How could they? They had never faced a real tragedy in their lives. They never had to stare down the barrel of a smoking gun, wondering whether or it would be the last thing they would ever see. They never kneeled beside the twitching bodies of their parents, and stared into their lifeless eyes as the footsteps from the scum that shot them laughed into the pavement he trampled. They never knew how it was to be truly alone.

He may be a fascist, a villain, a monster, but so long as he lived, no one in the City would ever feel the same way he did. Lying on the ground, crying, cold. Alone.

"_Batman? Can you read me?"_ A soft voice asked through the communications device in his cowl.

"What's the situation, Oracle?" Batman grumbled as he landed atop the Wayne Industries building.

"_The Ventriloquist tried to rob Gotham Fist National. The cops have got him surrounded, but he's threatening to start killing off hostages unless he's allowed to walk out of there_."

His teeth clenched. Arnold Wesker. The mild-mannered man plagued by multiple personality disorder that manifested itself through a puppet called Scarface. He thought that Wesker had been cured this time. He was wrong.

Why? Why did he let this happen? Why did he let the City play such games with him? The only thing that could possibly result from this sick little waltz that he and the City engaged in was another boy, orphaned by some gun-toting thug who got a little nervous. And the blood would be on _his_ hands.

"_Hello? Batman, are you still there?_" Oracle had been hailing him for the past two minutes. Wrapped up in his reverie, he didn't notice it.

"Yes. I'm on my way. Wesker _won't _escape. Batman out."

As his Batrope latched onto another building, and the Dark Knight drew himself ever closer to the bank, he heard the line go dead.

Once again, he was alone.

* * *

Kim breathed hard as she knelt behind the counter. Her body was alight with the liberating feel of power.

Getting by Gotham's finest was a simple task. She managed to slip by the fat, slothful detective who was guarding part of the perimeter without exerting any type of effort. Slipping inside the bank itself took a little more effort, but for the girl who could do anything, it was child's play.

.But now it was time to really get down to business. She had managed to get close enough to overhear the members of the gang chatter.

"Jack, whatt're we gonna do now? The cops've got this place surrounded!"

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do, Bricks" the man named Jack, who's voice sounded like he was gurgling on Tylenol, replied, "we're gonna sit tight and wait for the boss's orders. Now shaddup, yer givin' me a headache."

Kim managed to poke her head out from behind the desk slightly. She was too far away for any of the thugs to notice her. She quickly noted the psychical features of each member. The man in the middle was tall and thin, with blond hair that was plastered down due to his sweating. She pegged him as the nervous man who spoke first. Behind him was a man with shaggy, unkempt black hair, and a thin moustache. His intense hazel eyes were focused on his nervous comrade. She assumed that he was Jack. Finally, standing over a group of petrified hostages, was an overweight man. His grey beard matched his snowy hair, and a cigarette was clutched in his teeth. Each man wore black pinstripe suits, and matching fedoras.

_Well,_ the woman thought as she took in these details. Their suits, hats, oversized "tommy" guns, and demeanor were like something straight out of a bad 1940s gangster movie. _They're doing nothing to destroy the stereotype_.

"Hey!" A sudden, coarse shout rang from the other side of the bank.

Kim, fearing that she had been spotted, swung back around the corner, and crouched low. She began to feel around for any gadgets she had with her, when she realized that she had raced out of the dorm without even changing into her mission clothes. The only crimefighting device she had on her was her Kimmunicator.

_Damn,_ she hissed. This would make things more difficult.

It was then that she noticed that none of the gangsters had advanced, and they were now talking to a new person who had joined them.

"What's going on here?" The harsh voice cut through the air like a machete.

"U-uh-uh, nothing Mr. Scarface," the nervous voice of the blond-haired man croaked out.

"Have you joiks packed up the money yet?"

"N-n-n-no-no Mr. Scarface," It was clear that whoever this "Scarface" person was the one in charge.

"Then why do I hear talking, when I should hear working!" The voice of Scarface roared.

"Umm…Mr. Scarface…sir…" Jack, the once confident goon, started, just as nervous as his cohort, "Bricks was….he was just wondering how we was going to get out of this mess."

"Oh, I see," the voice suddenly softened, "Well then, Mr. Gricks, could you please explain to me why you have doubted my plan?"

"I-i-i-it wa-was…i-it-it-was j-j-just that the-the-the cops, a-a-and Batman—"

The sudden, splitting sounds of roaring machine gun fire drowned out all sound in the bank for a moment. When it abruptly ended, the screaming from the hostages replaced it with an equally ferocious timbre.

"I don't want to hear about the Gat, and I _don't_ want to hear about my plan. We're getting outta here, so shut your traps and get gack to work!"

"Yessir Mr. Scarface!" Jack hollered as mightily as he could. It came out as a weak murmur.

Kim sat frozen. She had been through a lot during her years as a crimefighter, but, in all that time, she'd never been close to death. Though she didn't actually see it, she knew that the stuttering man—Bricks, he was called—was now dead. She was outnumbered, with none of her gadgets, and in an unfamiliar environment where there were no rules. To say she was a bit frightened was a staggering understatement.

Ignoring the adage about the unfortunate cat, Kim's curiosity caused her to stick her head out again, to get a glimpse of the mob boss that had murdered one of his own men in cold blood.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to comprehend what she saw. Standing over the body of Bricks was a short, plump, middle-aged man with a bald head and thick glasses. He wore a tweed jacket, and had a red-and-yellow polka-dot bowtie that hung limply from his collar. That in itself was an oddity, but what was draped over his hand was even more bizarre.

Upright with maniacal glee was a ventriloquist's dummy. He had on a pinstripe suit with an oversized rose on the lapel. A wide-brimmed fedora covered his wooden face, which held two crazed blue eyes. A large scar ran across his cheek, and a fully-lit cuban cigar hung from his jaw. In his hand, he clutched a miniature-sized tommy gun, still smoking after shooting his flunkie.

Kim had seen a lot of things her life. From genetically-altered British archaeologists, to blue-skinned madman with superiority complexes, but this was easily the most inane thing she had ever witnessed.

_What the hell is wrong with this city?_ She asked herself.

"Mr. Scarface," a new timid voice, one belonging to the man manipulating the doll began, "maybe we should consider surrendering to the police."

"What's the matter with you!" The dummy roared, "Did the good doctors in Arkham do something to your grain? We're making off with the dough, and if you say something stupid like that again, I'll pump you fulla lead."

"Yes sir Mr. Scarface," the balding man said dejectedly.

"Jackie Goy," the dummy ordered, "get on the phone to the coppers, tell them that they've got ten minutes to gack off, or we start killing hostages."

"Y-yes sir Mr. Scarface!" the moustached-gangster stated before heading off to find a phone.

"Dealing with these grain-dead imbeciles," the block of wood mused to himself, "they're gonna give me an ulcer!"

The musings of the cigar-smoking homicidal dummy were cut short as the skylight of the bank exploded suddenly, sending a shower of glass onto the ground.

"Gatman!" He screamed, firing off a burst of bullets into the air. "Louie, get Jack and Tony, right now! That freak makes one more move, and we start gumping off hostages!"

The overweight man watching the hostages nodded quickly, and headed off to find his compatriots.

"Come on out, you cowardly gastard! I'll rip you in half!"

Kim's fear began to subside as the realization that other people's lives were in danger started to sink in. She had to stop Scarface's soldiers before they could start executing innocents.

Executing a summersault that would turn most Olympic gymnasts green with envy, she managed to get to the other side of the room without the insane ventriloquist or his dummy noticing. Hopping over one of the desks that the tellers usually stand behind, she closed in silently on the huffing gangster, already out of breath.

"Sorry Mustache Pete," she quipped as she delivered a powerful kick to the back of his knee, sending him to the ground, "you're not going anywhere."

He groaned, and reached out for his gun, which had spiraled across the floor, just outside of his grasp. The heroine sent her foot flying, connecting with his neck, and knocking him unconscious.

_One down, three to go_, she counted silently. And that wasn't including Batman.

"Who the hell are you?" A familiar hoarse voice called from behind her. Kim wheeled around to face the fat old man and the block of wood that was known as Scarface, staring straight at her.

"I'm Kim Possible. And I'm taking you down. Now."

"Wouldn't count on it, girlie," he barked, before firing off a deafening burst in her direction.

Kim's instincts had kicked in, and she managed to dive behind another of the ubiquitous desks. However, the bullets had come close. One had cut across the shoulder of her t-shirt, grazing the skin slightly. A trickle of blood stained her white shirt. She stifled a gasp.

She heard a door open, and the sound of feet smacking against the ground.

"What's happening?" One of the gangsters yelled.

"Some nutty girl thinks she's geing a hero," Scarface rasped. "You two take care of the gitch, I'll handle the Gat."

The auburn-haired girl shut her eyes, wiped the sweat off her brow, and began to mutter a prayer. To her left were two gun-toting thugs, and to her right was a lunatic with a dummy on his hand threatening to kill everyone in the building. She hoped that this was all some horrible nightmare.

The impacting _thud_ of bullets into the desk assured her that it wasn't.

At that precise moment, Kim Possible's brilliant mind kicked into gear. Jamming her hand into her pocket, she retrieved her Kimmunicator.

"Wade? I need your help right now!"

"What's up Kim?" The pudgy boy asked pleasantly as he appeared on the miniature screen.

"No time for small talk, I need you to hack into the Gotham First National Bank surveillance cameras right away!"

"Piece of cake," he said simply, and pounded a few commands into his long-suffering keyboard.

"Which one do you want?" He asked.

"Cycle through until you can find the one with me in it, and _hurry!_"

"Sure thing," he said. A moment later, he disappeared as the feed from the camera replaced it.

The two goons were slowly advancing behind her, fanning lest she try to make a sudden break for it. Scarface was stepping backwards, looking into the air for the Dark Knight that seemed to have disappeared.

In her mind, dozens of tactical scenarios played out, none with a good ending. She was trapped, and there was no other way around it. She was going to die.

A sudden whizzing noise from above and the pained groans of the two men alerted her. She looked at the screen as their guns clattered noisily to the ground, and bloody wounds appeared on their hands. Imbedded on the tiled floor were two black projectiles, shaped like….bats.

Just as abruptly as this attack occurred, the screen went black.

"Wade? Wade!" Kim screamed desperately into the device.

* * *

In his room, Wade's attention was devoted to the computer as the feed from the camera suddenly dropped out. 

Hammering a combination into the keyboard, he hoped to re-establish the link. Instead, he was greeted by something else entirely.

A strange insignia appeared on his screen. It floated across the screen for a few moments, mesmerizing the boy, before suddenly the machine shut itself off completely.

"No way," the boy mumbled as he began to comprehend what had just happened. "There's no way that could've been…"

He'd heard the stories before. But they were more like urban legends. He couldn't believe that they really existed. But no wanna-be could ever out-hack him. This had to be the work of the legend.

"Oracle.."

* * *

In the rafters, cloaked in the embrace of shadows, he watched on. 

"Oracle, have you disabled her uplink to the surveillance cameras?" He asked stoically.

"_Whoever she's got working for her is a clever one, but yeah, I managed to shut him down._"

"Good," he responded simply.

"_Are you sure that was a wise idea? She's completely blind now."_

"And hopefully, she'll realize that without the advantage of sight, she cannot continue this fight. I want her out of this, before she gets a civilian—or herself—killed."

"_Stay sharp Batman, this girl's tougher than you expect._"

"Tough doesn't mean anything in this type of fight. Experience does. Something she's lacking. Batman out."

He stepped out of his hiding spot. A light from inside the building cast his hellish shadow along the wall. It gave him comfort as he leapt down to face the gangster.

* * *

"Wade! Where are you!" She hollered into her Kimmunicator. When she got no response, she flung it to the ground in frustration. 

A _thump_ against the caused Kim to peak out over the side of the desk.

"Wesker, you're going back to Arkham," it commanded. The redhead knew the voice. She had heard it in that alleyway weeks before. It was the voice of the Devil himself.

"Gring it on Gatman, I'll shoot you into pieces." Scarface threatened.

Before the dummy could even react, another of the bat-shaped weapons was launched from the black-clad tower of a man. This one cut right through the wood of the dummy, severing his arm and the gun from the rest of his tiny body.

"Ah! I've geen hit!" He cried out.

"Mr. Scarface!" His operator shouted weakly.

"I'm fine," he said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small pistol with his remaining hand. "Louie, Jackie, take this punk to the cleaners!"

His two wounded but still functioning soldiers charged at the Bat.

Kim stared on as the two massive henchmen threw themselves at the caped vigilante. An elbow lashed out, hitting the man named Jack in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, his nose spurting out blood like a cherubic fountain. The other man—Louie, attempted to uppercut the Bat, only to have him sidestep, causing the lumbering man to lose balance and fall forwards. As he headed towards, the ground, Batman sent a crushing fist straight up, hitting the goon right in the solar plexus. It would make sure that he stayed down.

"This game's over Wesker. Drop the gun or I'll make sure that your dummy doesn't come back this time."

As he turned to face the demented puppeteer, Jack slowly rose from the ground, raising his hands in an axe handle right behind the masked warrior.

"Batman, look out!" Kim shouted, hopping over the desk. Landing on the ground, she corkscrewed into the air, and sent a crippling roundhouse kick right to the face of the bleeding man, putting him out of commission.

"What do you think you are doing?" The man behind the cowl hissed. It was the quietness of his voice that scared Kim the most. Nonetheless, she tried to remain strong.

"What am I doing? I just saved your life there pal! The least you could do is show me a bit of gratitude!" She yelled.

"I knew he was there. I was going to take care of him. What you just did was reckless and stupid. You could've got yourself killed."

"You're unbelievable!" The disbelieving girl yelled to the man in the Bat costume, "Do you have some sort of messiah complex or something?"

"Uhh…I hate to interrupt this lover's tiff," Scarface stated. Even the block of wood was confused by the surreal scene that they were in, "but I've really gotta jet. See ya around, Gatty!"

Yanking back the hammer on his six-shooter, he pointed it at Kim and fired.

"Get down!" Batman yelled as the girl stood petrified. Jumping in front, the bullet impacted with his chest, knocking him backwards, right into Kim. The two tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Kim looked on as the man lay at her feet before him.

_Is he really…dead?_ She thought, looking at his motionless body. After hitting the ground, his cowl had rolled up to just past his nose. Almost involuntarily, Kim's hand reached out, landing against the fabric of the mask. She slowly began to push it upwards.

An iron fist reached out, grabbing her wrist roughly, and tossing it to the side.

"You….you took a bullet for me." The exhausted heroine proclaimed, the realization just sinking in. "How are you still alive?"

"It was a .38, an antique."

"But…"

"Wesker's escaped, and he has a hostage with him. You've gotten in my way for the second and last time. You're here in this city on a scholarship. That's the only reason I've let you stay this long. Cross my path one more time, and I'll make sure that the rest of your life becomes very, very unpleasant."

Kim couldn't even form a sentence as the man rose to his impossibly tall height, pulled out a grappling gun from his bright yellow belt, and ascended into the air like a dark angel.

Kneeling on the floor of the destroyed bank, the things Chloe had said to her finally began to make sense.

* * *

"…Where a violent showdown between Arnold Wesker, a.k.a. The Ventriloquist, and Gotham's local hero, The Batman, took place. It appears as though new arrival in Gotham City, Kim Possible, another globetrotting hero, was also at the scene of this crime. Fortunately, none of the hostages were hurt, and the only death was that of Gerald "Bricks" Sedici, one of the members of Wesker's gang, the Scarface Mob. Despite this, Wesker managed to flee the scene by taking one hostage with him. The hostage was found on the street a few blocks away, without any injury. The police are still hunting for Weskers. If anyone has any information, they are urged to call this num—" 

The broadcast was abruptly ended as the television was shut off.

"How went your mission?" The man sitting behind the desk, cloaked in shadow, asked.

"I lost a few men, no one irreplaceable. And I got the dough. Dummy, get the bag!"

"Yessir Mr. Scarface," Arnold Wesker mumbled apologetically as he reached down and picked up a heft sack, walking forward timidly and placing it on the desk.

"Good," the figure in shadow responded emotionlessly.

"The Bat?"

"He's downright vicious. He took one of my arms!" The doll roared, shaking his stump in emphasis.

"This is also good. He's angry, and it's causing him to be sloppy. What about this other 'crimefighter' you dealt with, Kim Possible?"

"She's fast. But if it wasn't for the Gat, I'da put that dame six feet under. Just wait until I meet her again!"

"Your role in this operation is over, Mr. Wesker. Your portion from the robbery should be sufficient enough to keep your operations up and running for some time now. Make good use of it."

"You're the goss," the doll muttered, "let's go dummy."

The shadowed figure from behind the desk watched as the schizophrenic gangster exited the dim room. He leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers.

All was going according to plan. Batman was off-balance.

Turning to the intercom on the desk, he pressed a button.

"I want you to compile a dossier on Kim Possible. She's a threat that must be eliminated first."

* * *

End Author's Notes: I'm not dead! No, I'm just really busy, and I had to shelve this project for a little while coughthree monthscough. Anyways, thanks to the reviewers (both of 'em), and I hope that, if you're still out there, you enjoy this new chapter! 


	3. Chapter 2: Phobias

Chapter 2: Phobias

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Kim Possible or Batman.

Author's Notes: I'd just like to give a great big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! . One reviewer asked me if Kim would be using her suit from "_So the Drama_." Well, as I have yet to see that movie, I cannot include it as part of my story canon, so unfortunately, no, that suit will not be used.

Anyways, onto the next chapter!

* * *

Was it not Aeschylus that said "fear is stronger than arms"? He was indeed correct.

Fear, the most potent weapon that mankind has ever developed in its sick, brilliant mind. More lethal than 100 000 atomic bombs, more contagious than the flu, and as incurable as cancer.

Yet though its existence has outlived empires, dynasties, _gods_, it is treated as a pariah, a sickness. A disease.

Why cannot humanity embrace its greatest achievement? Because we've been conditioned to hate it. Foolish things by misguided men in power, like Roosevelt, who have stated "the only thing to fear is fear itself", have led us as a species astray. Why can we not learn to love and cherish our very genius?

The City, it understands. It pumps fear like its blood. And I sink my fangs into it, like a vampire, and lap at the intoxicating taste as though its fine wine. Its energy fills every fiber of my being, and in the transcendent experience, I become a God.

I came to the City with high hopes. Here was my breeding ground. With my knowledge, I could teach the deceived youth. I could make them progeny. We could be Masters of Fear. Together.

But those….infidels in charge of the university, they deemed me unworthy. In truth, they were _afraid _of me. They had let fear become their Master, when it should be the other way around.

I decided to personify fear, to show people that it could indeed be conquered and used for our own progress. I was trying to _help_ people, by showing them that there was a way to overcome fear. But no, the imbecilic population took me as some sort of terrorist, some renegade freak. Something like the _Bat_.

Ah, Batman, the delusional villain of our little passion play. A man who realizes the power of fear, much like myself, but has corrupted it, abused it to meet his own personal gains. Like many a good piece of literature, the hero and the villain are two idealistically similar people, split by personal differences.

As the hero, I have a moral obligation to vanquish my enemy. I shall kill the Bat, who has taken the City's wealth of fear, and tainted it so.

I shall show the world what it is like to truly master ones fears.

As I sit here, thinking about how I shall destroy the Dark Knight, how I will watch the life drain from my eyes, something comes over me. A familiar old sensation. One that, in all these years, has never quite lost its grip on me.

Fear.

* * *

Kim groaned and rolled gracelessly out of bed as her alarm clock continued to scream like an obnoxiously loud klaxon. She could adapt to lots of things, such as going from the Amazon rainforests to the Arctic tundra in a matter of hours, but getting up this early in the morning was still a challenge.

Grumbling as she fumbled for clothes and a towel, her eyes adjusted to the room. Faint sunshine poured through the curtained windows, and lit up everything in the lightly-hued room. Well, everything except the gloomy bulletin board that still hung over her bed.

Some people would think it a bit morbid to keep such a strange journal hanging over one's place of sleeping, but it was those same people who never learned the true wisdom behind the adage "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."

The events of last week were still fresh in her mind. Her showdown in the bank between the crazed mob boss Scarface and his gang, and the confrontation with Batman was still as vivid as it had been since it transpired.

_Maybe I was wrong about him after all_, she thought to herself as she trudged down the corridor to the co-ed showers. Chloe was right, Gotham was different from Middleton. The danger posed here was much more prominent. Any city where a puppet controlled of one of the most dangerous streets gangs in America definitely had its problems.

_No, I wasn't. He's a menace, just like the rest of the freaks he fights. He just doesn't get arrested because he's got half the cops in Gotham_, the world-saver rationalized as she set the water to the right temperature and stepped into the shower.

_His brand of "justice" is not only completely detrimental to society, but it's downright psychotic!_ Kim worked the peach-scented shampoo into her hair and continued her mental rant.

_This kind of vigilantism will only breed more violence in future generations! Children need someone as a role model. It cannot possibly someone like Batman! _

Pulling on her lavender t-shirt and matching jeans, that irritating voice in the back of her head once again stated its opinion.

_He can't be completely soulless. He _did _take a bullet for you._

_He was showing off_, the enraged part of her mind countered, _besides, you heard him, the gun was antique. It probably wouldn't have been able to break the skin._

Spitting the strong-tasting peppermint toothpaste into the sink, she ambled back towards her dorm. As she turned to the door, she very nearly avoided a full-on collision with her roommate.

"You're just getting back?" Chloe inquired, books already in hand, "I thought you were already in class! You'd better hurry, we've got like, ten minutes to psych class, and then we've got a physics test right after!"

Kim sighed as her friend brushed past her in a half-walk, half-run to class. This was going to be a long day.

Collecting her books for the first half of the day, she once again pondered on the fact that she and Chloe were in all of the same classes. It was odd, especially considering all of the courses offered at Gotham University. Chloe had told her that she was a fan of Kim, but by taking all the same classes was bordering into the "creepy-stalker" category.

The auburn-haired woman shook her head. It was simply a coincidence. All this concern over Batman had made her paranoid.

Racing out of the dorm, she crossed the bright, jade grass that was properly manicured by the maintenance crew. The campus was a sprawling series of complexes that covered everything in sight. It had taken Kim three days to find out where exactly to go.

Wasting no time to take in the beautiful scenery that the outdoors had to offer on the cool pre-autumn day, she jogged down the drab grey pavement walkway, the steps leading into the Cavendish Wing for Social Sciences drawing ever closer. So preoccupied with this temporary goal, she didn't even notice the man walking towards the door at the same time. The two impacted at the landing.

Kim, rising from the ground and rubbing her hand gently across her hurt back, offered other hand out to help up the man she ran into.

"I'm so sorry," she said earnestly, "are you alright?"

"Quite fine," a soft but uptight voice sneered as he batted Kim's hand away, "no thanks to you."

Lifting himself up off the ground, Kim got a look at the rude man. He was frighteningly tall, standing close to seven feet. In addition, he was unnaturally skinny, looking as though he hadn't been fed in four years. His dark brown hair was poorly cut and hung limply on his head. Thick-rimmed spectacles hung precariously on the bridge of his nose. He wore a tweed jacket and a burgundy vest underneath. In his left hand he clutched a shabby-looking briefcase.

"Sorry," Kim stated again.

"You're Kim Possible, are you not?" The man asked.

"Yes, I am." Kim flashed him an innocent smile.

"Well, I would expect better manners out of a self-proclaimed 'super-hero'."

Turning sharply on his heel, he stepped through the door, and marched off.

The smile disappeared from her face, and she stood there, momentarily shocked by what had just happened.

_What a stuffy jerk! _Kim thought as she collected the books that had been scattered across the ground. _He must be one of the Ancient History professors._

Kim stepped through the door, and wound her way down the halls until the got to the door for her psychology class.

The heads of her classmates simultaneously turned to look at her.

_Oh great, I'm late too. Oh well, at least Professor Nicholls is nice._

Looking to the front, she saw something that only served to make her day worse.

The gaunt, odious man glared from behind his glasses, and tapped his bony fingers in an awkward rhythm against the desk.

"My my Ms. Possible, we are not off to a very good start today, are we?"

She opened her mouth to apologize for the third time that day, but was cut off by an irritated wave of the hand, "no need to waste any more of my time with insincere apologies. Take your seat, please."

Kim, cheeked blushing furiously in embarrassment, hurriedly walked over to her desk, slumping down beside Chloe.

"You know this creep?" The brunette whispered to her.

"I bumped into him—literally—outside a few minutes ago. He's not the most forgiving of people."

"My name," the lanky man stated sharply, cutting off all hushed conversations in the room, "is Professor Van Brunt. I will be filling in for Professor Nicholls who is currently on leave. One thing I _will not_ tolerate in this room is speaking out of turn. You are to show me proper respect. Is that understood?" His eyes narrowed to slits behind his spectacles, zeroing in on Kim and Chloe.

"Good," He finished."And now, for today's lecture. We will be discussing one of the most fascinating aspects of psychology," he paused slightly for dramatic effect. "Fear.

"We all fear something, whether or not we'd like to admit it. Deep down inside of each and every one of us is something that we dread. Confronting and conquering fears is something that is rooted in psychology's foundations."

Noticing the apathetic look on the faces of his students, his lip curled into a sneer. "I hope I am not _boring _you people. Hmph, perhaps a demonstration is in order."

He tented his freakishly long fingers, and then spoke again. "Ms. Possible, why don't you tell us what it is that frightens you."

"The only thing I have a fear of is being late for classes," she smiled slightly at the tightly-wound man.

A few chuckles were emitted by some students, quickly suppressed by Professor Van Brunt.

"If you did not want to participate in this exercise, Ms. Possible, all you had to do was say so. Now, is there someone who can answer this question seriously…?"

* * *

Kim sighed with relief as the class ended, and the students rose. 

Professor Van Brunt's lesson had consisted of divulging into everyone's fears. Not much else was taught. It seemed as though the man had some strange obsession with them.

"Oh Ms. Possible," he called out as everyone gathered their books, "I would like to speak with you."

"Don't worry Kim," Chloe whispered, "I'll cover for you."

The gangly psychologist waited until every last student had filed out of the classroom, and then shut the door.

"Now, Ms. Possible, I think that your display in class today was disrespectful to my teaching methods, and disrupted the flow of the lesson."

"Sorry," Kim said halfheartedly.

"I've told you before, Ms. Possible, I am not interested in your apologies. What I want is an answer to my question."

Kim fidgeted uncomfortable in her small desk. This man was really starting to disturb her, "I uh…I think that's a personal thing."

"Hmm, I expected such an answer. Oh well, it looks like I will just have to retrieve it the hard way."

Van Brunt stepped behind his desk, and opened his suitcase. Casually, he laid a revolver on the desk before going back to rummaging through the leather package. As he did so, a stack of papers at the edge of the bureau suddenly toppled to the ground.

"Oh my," he muttered, bending down behind the table to retrieve them.

Kim wasted no time. This man was clearly insane, and she had to get out of there as fast as she could. Leaping up from her desk, she dashed towards the door. After a few frantic twists of the handle, she found it to be locked.

"It is futile to persist, Ms. Possible," Van Brunt's disturbingly soft voice whispered as she turned around to face him.

She let out an audible gasp of fright as she beheld what the tall man had turned into.

His faded suit lay on the ground. In place of it was a baggy shirt and equally loose burlap pants, held up by a frayed bit of rope. Gray gloves covered his hands, and bits of straw stuck out of his cuffs. Where his face once was a garish, haunting mask took its place. Eyeholes had been crudely cut into it, and the mouth had been sewn up. A large hat covered his head. Taking on the appearance of a scarecrow, he looked truly terrifying.

As she gazed at this monstrosity, something in Kim's mind clicked. Something she had read in one of the old newspapers about her obsession. This man was not named 'Van Brunt.' It was Jonathan Crane. Insane psychologist who dressed up as a scarecrow and frightened people to death.

"Y-you," she stammered, the fear beginning to grip even her, "Dr. C-crane."

"Quite perceptive, Ms. Possible," he spoke with ragged breath, only making him appear even more frightening. "Ah, I can hear the worry, the uncertainty, the _fear_ in your voice. It's like a symphony to me. You see, fear is my…obsession, if you will. And right now, I want to hear you scream its praises."

In one fluid motion, Crane reached into his suitcase, retrieving a skull the size of his hand. Pressing a button on the back of it, green gas fired out of the eye sockets, surrounding Kim and causing her to cough uncontrollably as the substance filled her lungs.

"What you have just inhaled, my dear, is fear toxin, a specialty of mine. I could explain to you the exact biological properties of it, but I doubt your infantile mind could comprehend it. Let's just say that, in the end, your worst, most terrifying fear will be revealed to me. And I we'll savor it together, before I kill you."

The red-haired woman's eyes watered from the toxic substance, and her vision began to go dark.

"Ah, 'Fear always springs from ignorance,' as Emerson so richly stated," Scarecrow quoted as he watched the spectacle before him.

"Crane!" a booming voice shouted, causing the deranged professor to turn to his side to face the new threat.

"Batman. I didn't expect you so early in the morning."

"Let the girl go, you want me." The Dark Knight stated as he emerged from the shadow of the room.

"You are incorrect in your presumption, you simpleton. The girl is what I came for, but taking on the both of you will be even more pleasurable. Taste your fear, Batman."

Jonathan Crane pressed the button on his skull weapon again, only then to notice that, in the time he had been talking to Batman, the vigilante had hurled one of his Batarangs into the device. It exploded in a shower of shrapnel as the damaged jet propellers pumped the toxin.

Kim gasped in panic as she gazed at the two demons. One, a straw man with a face mutilated by unspeakable tortures, gasped and hacked as he was surrounded by a noxious cloud.

The other was far more terrifying.

Cloaked in perpetual shadows, his garish wings stretched from floor to ceiling, demon looked like it had escaped from hell. Massive horns gleamed with malicious shine as they hung from his head. Its eyes were white portals of oblivion. The Bat-demon turned to stare at her for a moment, paralyzing her to the very core.

* * *

The insane doctor cackled as the fear gas dissipated around him. "An admirable attempt, Bat, but it was all for naught. I have grown immune to my toxin." 

"It's over Crane," the Dark Knight commanded as he drew two more projectiles from his belt, "you're going back to Arkham, _now_."

"Spare me the dramatics, pretender!" Scarecrow howled, "How many times do you think we've been in this same situation? I've come prepared this time."

The lightning speed of the gangly psychologist was something Batman still hadn't gotten used to. Before he had even halved the distance between them, Jonathan Crane had picked up his revolver, aiming right for his head.

"This time, I'm not going to miss."

* * *

Kim tried to scream as the horrific images flooded her, overwhelming all of her senses. The feral screeching of the Bat-demon and the ear-shattering cackles of the straw man assaulted her ears while the ghastly sight of the hellspawn caused her to shut her eyes in a vain attempt to make the nightmare disappear. 

All sound evaporated, and all she could hear now was the nerve-wracking silence of the whole affair, its inaudible voice beckoning her to open her eyes. Without thinking, she did so.

Staring on in horror, she watched as the monster in the straw hat raise his gun, his gothic mask shifting as his pasty faced smiled underneath.

The gun roared in satisfaction as it dislodged the projectile from its barrel, streaking through the air, its target unable to maneuver.

As the toxin gripped Kim, she watched with muted horror. The Bat-demon was no longer on the other side of the barrel. Standing in its place, his face stoic with terror, was a blond young man.

"_Ron!"_ Kim howled. Lost in the reality of the situation, she did the first thing that came to her mind.

Leaping forward, she threw herself at her petrified best friend, hoping to be fast enough to outrace the bullet.

* * *

_Stupid. Stupid old man._ He cursed himself. He let his ego get the best of him. Crane may be an utter lunatic, but he was still a threat. 

He watched as his body drew closer to that of the madman in the straw outfit, and watched as the hammer slammed forward, the recoil causing Crane to take a step back, and sending a bullet straight for him.

This was not going well.

Fractions of a second later, that thought was pushed from his head as something heavy slammed into his side. The Bat was shoved to the side involuntarily, the bullet whizzing by his head, severing the right cowl ear as it traveled above him.

As he came to a stop, he looked to see what had saved him. On the ground, curled into a ball, the toxin still in effect, was Kim Possible. She, the cheerleader, had saved _his _life.

There was no time to ponder this. The Scarecrow had to be stopped.

Like a primal animal, he hurled himself forward, putting himself mere inches from the psychotic psychologist.

His tactics already planned out, he threw a fierce roundhouse, connecting with Crane's midsection, hurling him backwards against the blackboard. With a whimper, the professor collapsed to the ground.

That didn't stop the Dark Knight.

Stepping forward he towered over the wiry criminal. His iron hand reached down, gripping Jonathan Crane by the neck, and hoisting him back into a standing position.

"That's two of your ribs broken, Crane. _Don't _make me snap anymore."

"Y-you d-d-don't sc-scare me, B-b-at!" The man stuttered, staring into the narrowed white eyes that burned with hate.

The gloved hand of Batman reached up, closing around the ragged mask, tearing it off with one ferocious yank.

Crane's beady brown eyes widened as his face was stripped away. Perspiration rolled down his pale cheeks, and his black hair was matted to his head.

"You're pathetic." The Bat hissed, the timbre of his voice like a tank rumbling over asphalt. Clasping at his baggy collar, he hurled the crazed man to the ground.

The grimace on the face of the Bat did not disappear, even with the defeat of Jonathan Crane. He nearly died right there, because of a stupid mistake.

_I don't make mistakes like that. _

It was the cheerleader, Possible. He was too busy worrying about whether or not she'd get killed to even protect himself. He growled in frustration.

Walking over to the girl, he retrieved a small syringe from his yellow utility belt, injecting it into the redhead.

_The antidote won't kick in for a few hours. In the meantime, she's going to have to deal with her darkest fears._

The Bat rose back to his full stature. He would deal with Possible later. The police sirens were already drawing close.

Returning to the window, ready to slip back off to the Cave, he could hear the shaky, panic-stricken voice of Jonathan Crane warble out into the silent room.

"Mommy…..I'm scared…."

* * *

Kim continued to shake involuntarily in the hospital bed as the doctors and nurses filed out of the room. 

The fear gas she had been exposed to had been quickly neutralized, and there would be no long-lasting effects, the doctors assured her.

_Sure, except for years of traumatic nightmares_, she thought bitterly.

Kim still couldn't get that one hallucination out of her head. Laughing insanely, the crazed Scarecrow picked up his gun and shot Ron. Kim tried to run forward, to save her friend, only to find that she could not move. All she could do was stare on in absolute terror as the bullet perforated his body, exiting with a fresh coat of red paint. Suddenly, she could move, but it was too late. Ron convulsed on the ground, and then stopped moving entirely. The cackling of the madman gave way to the ear-splitting silence, interrupted only briefly by the choked sobs of a broken girl.

The green-eyed girl shook her head sharply, and pushed the horrible thought from her head. Her body tensed up, and she felt a shiver go through her.

Rage boiled in her system as she thought about that sicko pervert Dr. Crane. She would've gladly pounded his smug face into the pavement, but someone had spared her the trouble. From what she had been able to pick up on her way to the hospital, the self-styled Master of Fear was on his way to Arkham Asylum's infirmary with multiple fractures and a possible concussion.

It was the Bat. That hellish monster that showed up every time she was in peril in this miserable City.

Did he have nothing better to do? Was he some creepy stalker?

Or was he someone who was trying to protect his city, and was it her that was getting in the way?

All her thoughts were interrupted as someone new walked into the room. His blond hair was the first thing she noticed, followed quickly by his concerned chestnut eyes, and then the rest of his skinny body.

"Ron," she breathed.

"I came as quickly as I heard," he explained rapidly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. That freak sprayed me with some drug that made me see some pretty terrible things, but I'll be fine."

Staring into her best friend's eyes, she still couldn't shake that one image. Ron lying in a pool of his own blood, dying slowly as she collapsed beside him. Unable to do anything but break down and cry.

"Ron," she croaked out as tears welled up in her arms, "could you do me one favor?"

"Anything KP," he said.

"Hold me."

* * *

The Cave. 

An underground cavern, filled to the brim with jagged stalactites and precarious cliffs. Bats wings fluttered overhead, and screeches echoed off the unseen ceiling. Any sane man who entered would be driven to madness.

He felt right at home.

"A new style, sir?" Alfred sarcastically inquired at the one-eared cowl.

"Not now, Alfred."

Reaching up, he pulled off his damaged face, letting float to the ground. Taking a gloved hand, he rubbed it through the finely-cropped black hair that sat atop the perfect mask he had taken years to cultivate.

He walked over to the padded chair that sat in front of the gargantuan computer in one of the many corners of the cavern. Bruce Wayne exhaustedly collapsed into it.

With a few quick strokes of keys on the panel in front of him, a ten-foot tall image of a pretty lady with short red hair and glasses appeared onscreen. A headset was upon her head, with a microphone at her mouth, and she was typing furiously into a keyboard.

"Oracle, Scarecrow's been taken care of?"

"Already?" The woman asked, surprised, "Bruce, aren't you compromising your safety by going out in the daytime?"

The man glowered at the screen. "My _safety_ isn't as important as those of Gotham. I _will not_ sit idly by and allow a madman like Jonathan Crane to run freely around this city."

"Yeah, well you won't have to worry about our straw friend doing much running in the near future. I just hacked into the Arkham physician's report; you broke three of his ribs and gave him a concussion. He's going to be in the hospital for a long time."

"Where he belongs," The Bat finished.

"Bruce, these last few months, your actions have become more….aggressive."

"I'm tired of this routine I've got myself into, Oracle. I'm sick of waking up every morning to hear the Scarecrow, or the Joker, or any other criminal, is on the loose and killing again. I'm sick of it. If I have to break bones to get the job done, so be it."

"Bruce, don't you see the connection between here and what….happened a few months ago? With Tim?"

"Tim is a strong boy, he can handle himself."

"Don't get like this, Bruce," Barbara Gordon shouted, "don't act this way. Tim lost his father. He's all alone now. Don't shut him out. You were there for me after what happened with the Joker. You have to be there for him now."

The ex-Batgirl who now worked as his intelligence gatherer watched as the man's broad shoulders heaved and he sunk low into his chair. When he raised his head again to look at the screen, she could see that he was no longer Batman. He was Bruce Wayne. It could be plainly seen on his tired face.

"I can't Barbara. It isn't like the old days. The City is a different place now. I'm Batman. I can't afford to be weak."

"Please Bruce," Oracle softly implored, "just call him."

He sighed deeply. "I'm scared Barbara. I'm scared of losing him."

* * *

The man in the trench coat fidgeted nervously as he entered the room. Fumbling with a cigarette, he took a seat opposite the broad desk where his boss sat. 

"Uh sir," he nervously reported, "I'm sorry to say that the Batman showed up earlier than we had planned. He uhh…..apprehended our operative the Scarecrow before he was able to ummm…..neutralize his target, Kim Possible."

"I am aware of this," the boss spoke neutrally, "and it's unfortunate that we have lost Dr. Crane so early in the game. He was a useful ally. But this move wasn't an entire waste."

"Sir?" the trench-coated man inquired.

With a finger sticking out to touch a button on the desk, the television screens in the room suddenly kicked to life. A grainy, black-and-white picture began to form. On it, a young girl was kneeling on the floor, the vision of her obscured by a cloud that formed around her. Standing across the room was a lanky man in a straw suit, laughing and brandishing a pistol. Coming towards him was a figure in a black cape.

The straw man fired off a bullet at the black-caped man.

"_Ron!_" A young girl's voice screeched through the speakers as she threw herself towards the Bat.

The tape suddenly stopped, and the feed was repeated. The same horrifying cry came through the speakers again. This happened one final time before the boss interrupted the loop by pressing another button, stopping the tape entirely.

His chair groaned as the boss leaned back leisurely.

"We now know Kim Possible's greatest fear."

* * *

End Author's Notes: Well, there you have it. Once again, tad long to write, but what can I say? I'm a lazy man. 

Just a quick note, the name of the psychology wing of the school, the Cavendish Wing, is named after Doctor Charles Cavendish, the insane head of Arkham Asylum in the (fantastic) graphic novel "Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth." It is a little morbid to name a university wing after a crazy man, but it _is_ Gotham City after all.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Always pleasant to read what you have to say.


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